Obligated
by Imagination Domination
Summary: A new twist is added to the Games: a District citizen can become a Gamemaker; their family is free of the Games. Though it sounds to be an easy “yes,” being a Gamemaker requires heartlessness. Family and love over morals and sanity—can he choose?
1. Chapter One: Excitement

_ Second Update: Just so everyone knows, I don't need more tributes. Thanks for reading. If story-alerted people get this as a new chapter, this is the only adjustment. No need to read the chapter again unless you feel like it._

Chapter One: A Surprise

A bell resounded throughout District 11. Thousands of hands wiped sweat from their brows, glad to be done with the day's work. Families began regrouping in the fields as an announcement poured from the speaker.

"All citizens of District Eleven: There will be an obligatory event in the city courtyard this evening at eight-thirty. A representative from each family must attend. Failure to be present will result in punishment. Again, eight-thirty is the designated time. Thank you."

Nobody questioned this; of course, it was the Capitol's doing. Many did wonder what the meeting would be about. No doubt, it was something to do with the Hunger Games, which were only a month away. Maybe another tesserae sign-up?

xXxXxXx

The Peacekeeper looked down at the grubby people from the podium. Could they not wash up a bit beforehand? He shook his head. _Just get this over with and you can go home_, he thought to himself.

"A-hem," the stocky man said into the microphone. "I don't assume that any of you know what is happening. I wasn't sure about it until now, either."

The crowd stayed silent, wanting only to return to their families and possibly to a morsel of food. The Peacekeeper bit his lower lip and continued, "Well, the Capitol has recently sent a letter to each district, giving us information about a contest of sorts. I will read it to you now."

He looked up at the gathered men and women. They stared back blankly, causing the newly-appointed man to pull at his clothes uncomfortably. After clearing his throat again, he read aloud: "To the citizens of District Eleven:

"After much decision-making, we at the Capitol have decided to allow further participation in out Hunger Games." Groans and sighs escaped the mouths of every person present. "Looking back at past events, it was noticed that many arena designs have become repetitive in some way. Fortunately, a solution for this predicament was solved quickly, and that is the reason for our announcement.

"For this Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games, an adult district citizen has the opportunity to send in an arena design. Our current Gamemakers will review each one, pick the most creative, and use it for this year's Games. In addition the designer of this arena will become a Gamemaker for the celebration this year, and their family will be out of the reaping for three generations."

Gasps of astonishment. Was it true? Family safety in exchange for a landscape draft? It was unbelievable. Excited gazes caught each other.

"That is all." The Peacekeeper then stated that President Snow had his signature on the paper, along with that of the Head Gamemaker. "You are free to go."

A loud clamor broke out in the courtyard as the people hurried home to inform their families of the possibility of safety. No more reapings, even for just three generations of family, was incredible.

All across the districts, similar excitement was spreading. Everyone wanted the privilege. They would do everything to get it.

xXxXxXx

_Tap, tap, tap…_

Rey Caskur flicked the pen against the desk, searching his mind for ideas. He had three children: one son and two daughters, the two eldest of which were currently eligible for the reaping. He had to win the contest, had to save his family. But what would be original enough?

He shook his head and leaned back so that the wooden chair creaked. _Think_, he commanded himself. _Think of the fairytales Gram used to tell. The tales from before Panem, before the previous countries fell…_

And it came to him. His sister's favorite story. The one about the enormous building that held hundreds of activities, the one that held fun for all ages. He began scribbling on the scratch paper, the arena idea forming in his head.

He didn't recognize that the fairytale setting would be the last thing twenty-three innocent children saw before their deaths. He didn't think about how the historic land of fun would become a forever-remembered land of death.

Desperation. Oh, what it will drive people to do…

_A/N: Well, that's my first chapter. Like a prologue, yes, but I had to set the scene._

_This will be a Hunger Games story told from third-person. The catch: you will see through the eyes of a Gamemaker as well as from the perspective of the tributes. That way, the victor will be unknown until the very end._

_Of course, you will submit a few. Here is the form:_

_Name:_

_Age:_

_Gender:_

_District:_

_Personality: (be descriptive. If it takes up less than a paragraph, I won't accept it)_

_Strengths: (no less than two, no more than four)_

_Weaknesses: (must equal the amount of strengths)_

_Family: (who do they live with? I don't want everyone to be orphans)_

_Strategy: (what will they do in the Games?)_

_Appearance: (what they look like. Must include eye color, hair color/length, skin tone, body size, height, etc.)_

_Other: (anything else important)_

_Do your best to be original. I will only accept the ones that are the most exceptional out of them all. Remember that not everyone in the Games will be strong, smart, a survivalist, etc. Most are simply scrawny kids. No Mary Sues/Gary Stus will be accepted (i.e. a perfect personality, intensely dramatic past, has all aspects of a perfect Hunger Games contestant for no apparent reason, etc. I will inform you if I find your character to be a Sue/Stu.) All submissions must be by PM; inform me of the character submission through a review, if you don't mind. Good luck to all._

_~I.D._


	2. Chapter Two: Acceptance

Chapter Two: An Introduction

A weary-eyed man sifted through the piles of letters, obviously losing interest in his work. For three endless days, he had read over the contest submissions, throwing out dull ones and keeping decent additions. The young Gamemaker had made hardly any progress; the "trash" pile towered over the useful collection menacingly.

He weaved his hand through his thin, blonde hair. His brain felt fried. He desperately needed sleep, but this was too important at the moment. Just because he was the newest addition and basically an intern, the more accomplished Gamemakers had voted him into the duty.

The man was having second thoughts about them.

Suddenly, a screen flickered to life at his left. The oddly happy face of President Snow appeared, beaming at the exhausted Gamemaker.

"Any progress yet, Tawlen?" Snow asked. Tawlen sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"Minimal. Hardly any of these ideas are original," he answered. "They're all suggesting the same things: hidden Cornucopia in a vast landscape of nature, no available weapons, and a whole list of other boring, overused things. The best thing so far is an underground maze, but we can't do that without four years of preparation."

President Snow rubbed his temples. "I expected as much. I see now that this contest should have been held much earlier."

Tawlen nodded, picking up a still-sealed envelope. "I'll continue reading them, President. I will inform you of anything interesting."

Snow grinned widely. "Thank you for the update, Tawlen!" And the screen faded.

The optimistic look on the Tawlen's face disappeared as well. He dropped his head onto the desk with a loud _donk_. Groaning slightly, he blindly ripped open the letter, bringing it to eye-level.

His eyebrow lifted as he read the chicken-scratch writing. _These people have obviously never practiced calligraphy_, Tawlen thought absently. But as he continued reading, a glimmer of hope entered his mind.

"This is good," he said aloud. "It makes sense… But there isn't much time left." The statement was true. Thinking that an idea from the citizens would be easy to incorporate into an already-made arena, President Snow and the Gamemakers had given out the contest opportunity with roughly one month for building. However, not many of the ideas were usable, and the ones that worked would take years to establish.

The lean man thought back to his two true years of internship. _How quickly had they fixed the arena when the train rammed into it that year?_ he wondered. Four weeks, counting the forced rejuvenation of the wildlife and vegetation. It was a speedy project.

Excitement crept into his mind. He quickly contacted the President again via video-call.

"Yes?"

"I've got one."

The older man's voice lit up. "Splendid! E-mail me a copy, and tell me your plan for it to be built."

As he retyped the letter for Snow to read, he spoke, "Do you remember the museum sort of thing that got abandoned several years ago? The big building with all those old-time artifacts in it?"

"From sixty years ago? I wasn't even around for that one."

"Yes! It's perfect for this!" shouted the blonde man. "I'm sending now."

Soon, both of their faces were lit with the same expression.

"I agree. We'll have a short meeting to confirm this one's use, then, hopefully, go to constructing it. Thank you, Tawlen."

Chuckling heartily, President Snow signed off. _Strange man_, Tawlen confirmed as he stretched, stood up, and left his puny office for the meeting.

xXxXxXx

"You'll never win the Games if you can't even beat me!" Cursor shouted to his younger sister, Aurelia. She grimaced, bringing her sword back into a menacing pose.

"And you won't make it back home if you keep mocking me!" she countered, slashing at his neck with the blunt wooden blade. The two had been sparring for thirty minutes, both quite tired but refusing to give in. It was a daily contest.

Cursor swiped again at her thigh as she leaned left to avoid the blow. Aurelia hit her brother's wrist with the hilt, causing him to drop his weapon. She swiftly kicked it away, bringing the edge of her own sword to his jugular. "Dead," she announced.

"Cheap shot," Cursor muttered, picking up the wooden weapon. "Hardly fair. And you won't be able to hold a real sword like that."

Aurelia waved her hand, a motion to brush off his comment. "At least I would get a hold of a sword. You'd be dead before you get five feet away from a platform."

"Sure, sure. But I can run faster than you, slowpoke." With that, Cursor dashed off in the direction of their home.

"You didn't even put the stuff away!" Aurelia yelled. Grumbling, she kicked his sword underneath a bush, then carefully placed hers inside a different one.

Aurelia slowly made her way back home, not caring that this confirmed the earlier statement from Cursor. She let down her curly, strawberry-blonde hair, which she wore up in a ponytail for training. Many other District Two walked past and waved, but she hardly returned the favor with a quick nod of the head and a tense look.

"Aurie!"

The freckled girl focused again to find her younger sister, Macra, rushing over to her. "Aurie, guess what!" the young girl repeated.

"What is it?"

"I made dinner! Well, part of it, anyway. I made the salad," she said, grinning widely.

Aurelia nodded. "Good job. Tell Mom that Cursor's got dish duty."

"Why?"

"'Cause I just kicked his butt at practice." Macra giggled and ran back inside, screaming her head off that 'Aurie kicked Cursor's butt again.'

xXxXxXx

Willow Shern grinned as she chipped the last unneeded shred of wood from her carving, which was a tiny, slightly misshapen dove. She was no professional carver, but she was stubborn enough to get it done.

Proud of the wooden bird, she scooted away from the scattered shavings and got to her feet, stretching as she did so. Willow weaved a path through the forest, noticing that the sunset was already halfway gone. The lumber workers had long since gone—Saturdays usually ended work early.

Eventually, the tall brunette reached her backyard, a small outcropping with short saplings and a puny flower garden. Her mother was hunched over the garden with a watering can.

"I'm back, Mom," Willow said cheerfully. She hadn't been gone long, but the reason for her short departure was understandable. Her father had been drinking again.

"Good, good," her mother said, smiling at the fifteen-year-old. "Could you bring me the hose? The can just emptied."

"Look what I made." Willow humbly handed her the dove before grabbing the hose from the side of the house, though "shack" would be a more appropriate name.

"It looks very sweet, Willow. Whittle a bit more off his left side, and it'll be perfect." Willow nodded. Her mother always noticed the little details, scrutinizing with well-aged brown eyes. Though Willow had similar brown eyes, she knew that her mother had a special talent.

As she shaved the side of the dove, Willow whispered, "Is Dad asleep?" Her mother nodded solemnly.

"Out like a light. He's had a long day." But they both knew what that truly meant.

xXxXxXx

"_Lark Kaine_! Get your scrawny butt back here!"

A little imp of a boy scrambled away from the older boy, who was currently covered in a mixture of mud and leftover potatoes. "I'm gonna kill you for this one, Dwarf!"

Lark sprinted away from the scene of the crime: a trip wire, a steel bucket, and the junk-smothered fifteen-year-old. Snickering, he sped through town, his semi-long brown hair flying madly behind him. People saw him and thought nothing of it; they knew Lark was up to no good. It was a daily thing.

The young teen fled until he found a tree tall enough to hide in. He pulled himself up, which was relatively easy—he was extremely small in stature.

Several of the muck-covered boy's friends searched for Lark, albeit unsuccessfully. He resisted the urge to throw branches at them and tried his best to wait silently.

"Hey! There he is, up in the tree!" someone yelled, pointing to the hazel-eyed trickster. He kicked the tree trunk.

"Oh, crap."

And so the pursuit began, Lark running like an antelope, and nearly nine upperclassmen chasing him vehemently. He cackled maniacally, as he knew they could never come near to catching him. Eventually, Lark outran the older boys, leaving them in the dust.

It was a humorous sight.

xXxXxXx

_A/N: Sorry for such a long chapter. I'm trying to introduce a few of the characters as the story progresses so you know that it has two simultaneous sections: Rey and the Games._

_Don't worry if your character did not appear in this chapter. All the ones I have received so far are in, and they will come into the story in the next few installments. No need to overwhelm you with a pointlessly large chapter with just introductions. Also, please inform me if I did not portray your character in a way you would prefer. I don't want an unhappy reader because of an incorrect character description and whatnot._

_Character spots are still abundant, so I would appreciate it if you would submit one. Entry form is at the end of the first chapter._

_Open Male District Tribute Spots: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Ten, and Twelve._

_Open Female District Tribute Spots: Three, Five, Nine, Ten, and Twelve._

_Lastly, I apologize for updating this late. Updates from me are usually sporadic; I never know when I'll have time to write. Just know that they will at least have plenty of information and such._

_Write on._

_~~I.D._


	3. Chapter Three: Normality

Chapter Three: An Insight

No signs from the Capitol about the Gamemaker opportunity had come after the Peacekeeper's initial announcement. Many had lost hope, no longer caring about the contest or its rewards. They simply saw it as a trick to get people more interested in the Games.

Rey was included in this group. He was an overly analytical man, always breaking things down more than anything needed to be. After submitting his entry, Rey had thought of every reason why they wouldn't pick his. There was no longer a motive for him to think he could have won.

"Mal, hand me that basket. I can take it in," he said to his wife, Malia. She was a petite woman and could barely lift the crop-filled bin. They switched objects, Mal smiling at him as she went back to working the fields.

The tall man shouldered the basket, his feathery blonde hair getting caught in the woven straw. It was a process that happened constantly on work days: Mal always filled a basket before he did, so he would carry it to the crop center while she finished his. By the time he returned, she would be done with another, and he would go back and forth with the heavy loads.

Other workers grinned at Rey as he passed by. One of his neighbors, an elderly woman, yelled out, "There goes the basket boy…" She smiled, too, but she had no teeth, so it was not a very pleasant sigh. Rey winked at her anyway.

"Hey, Twig. How goes it?" A burly man with blonde hair and light brown eyes similar to Rey's jumped out from the crowd and walked beside Rey, a basket on both shoulders. "Still living up to your nickname, eh?"

Rey rolled his eyes at his older brother. "It takes one to know one, Zilla."

Zilla looked hurt. "I thought we agreed not make fun of each other anymore."

"You just called me 'Twig.'"

"That's not mean. Making me an equivalent to a giant lizard is just downright awful," Zilla retorted, furrowing his brow.

"What's wrong with that? I'm saying you are as strong as a giant lizard, not that you look like one. Much," Rey said back, smirking. Zilla was a large guy with bulging muscles, which made Rey feel like an antelope standing next to a rhino.

Zilla chuckled. "You haven't changed much in twenty years. You're still my midget of a little brother."

"Thanks for noticing."

As they continued on their walk to the center, they heard shouting from the other side of the crop wall. The voices were young and high-pitched, making it obvious that they were children. Without more warning than the yells, a young boy with a lean muscular figure tumbled out of the greenery, shouting at unseen companions. His sandy brown hair was filled with seed pods, and two kids hung onto his legs.

"You okay, kid?" Zilla questioned, surprised. The boy stood to his full height, around six feet tall. He was a few inches taller than Rey, but Zilla was uncontested by his stature.

"Yeah. Got pushed down is all," he said while brushing off his tunic.

"What's your name? I know I've seen you around before," Zilla commented, rubbing the stubbly beard on his chin. "You a Larchspur?"

He nodded. "Uh-huh. I'm Kem."

The boy nodded up at Zilla. "Yup! And he's the oldest. I'm older th'n ev'rybody else, though."

"C'mon, Kem! We gots to finish pickin' early today! Ma said she wanted us home fast!" shouted the younger of the two, a girl, after sticking her tongue out at the boy clutching Kem's opposite leg.

Rey smiled. "These are your brother and sister? They look just like you."

The boy nodded with a half-grin. "Yeah, everyone tells me that. I better get going. Nice meeting you." With that, he stumbled back to his beginning location. His siblings never released their death grips on his calves.

"He's a nice kid. All of those Larchspurs are," Zilla told Rey. "I feel sorry for that boy, Kem, though. His mom lost her mind when her husband died, I heard. He's taking care of the whole family."

Rey shook his head, pulling a few strands of hair free of the basket. "Seems that things never will start getting brighter here."

"Twig, it depends on how you look at things. Half-empty glass, half-full glass. Look at it with more optimism." At the word "optimism," Zilla threw his head back in mock dramatics. His younger brother snickered.

"So you want me to think of it in a happier tone? All right, let's see… Kem is getting earlier life experience." Rey raised his other hand and brushed it through the waves of amber grain. "Taking care of five people all by yourself will really give you some practice."

Zilla shrugged his shoulders, the baskets rolling with his muscles. "When you put it that way, it sounds even gloomier."

"Exactly."

xXxXxXx

Rezzellia D'manarie laughed along with her friend, Peridot, as they walked down the street. District One citizens milled along around the two girls, exuding happiness, as they talked about the day's events at school.

"Did you see her face?" Rezzie asked, dividing the words with laughter. Her shining blue eyes were filled to the brim with glee.

"Well, duh!" Peridot shouted. "She was right in front of me!" Peridot did an over-exaggerated impersonation of the aforementioned girl's face. Rezzie threw her head back as she cackled, and her lengthy, brown hair followed suit.

Peridot hopped up and down, trying to keep herself from giggling. "You know, it was kind of mean for that guy to tie her shoelaces to the desk. She could have broken her head or something."

Rezzie raised an eyebrow. "Break her head? How would one go about breaking their head?"

The blonde pushed her friend's shoulder. "I don't know, by falling and hitting your head! It doesn't matter!"

Rezzie skipped ahead of her friend and nearly ran into a salesperson. "It does, Per. Very much so. If randomly falling could break a person's face, then the world would fall apart. People would die of broken heads all the time, and then we would have to wear helmets all the time. Everybody would have helmet hair!"

"Aw, just shut up. You think too much!" Rezzie frowned and looked back.

"Sorry. That's just how I—gah!" Before finishing her sentence, the brunette tripped over herself and did a face-plant in the dirt.

"Yes, Rezzie, you are very 'gah.'" Peridot offered a hand to her friend. She accepted the help, and the lanky girl was pulled to her feet.

While she walked forward as if unfazed, Rezzie said, "That's why you love me though."

The goofy grin on her face got Peridot laughing again easily. "You're just special, Rezzie. Nobody can trip for no apparent reason like you do," she remarked.

The taller girl flung her arms out. "I'm just trying to fly. Come on, I thought you said that you got some new nail polish!"

Peridot's hazel eyes brightened. "Oh, yeah! Let's go!" With that, the two dashed away from the crowd to her house.

xXxXxXx

A tan boy was reclining in his backyard on a lawn chair. His expensive sunglasses were so overly large that they nearly touched the edge of his windswept brown hair. The afternoon sun was receding, leaving the boy with no choice but to find something actually productive to do.

The boy leaned back and then rolled forward, using the momentum to pop up and stand straight. He grabbed his tanning towel and folded the chair. While he placed the fold-up furniture beside the house, his mother called out to him from inside.

"Dante, didn't you say you were going to see Evalyn this afternoon? We're having dinner soon. You better hurry up," she said to her son.

"Got it. I'm going now," he replied while pulling on a rumpled T-shirt and pushing the sunglasses to the top of his head.

After straightening his shorts, Dante pulled himself over the fence. He landed in the front yard. He looked around the district he called home: cared for, welcoming, habitable. It was all he had ever known. District One was a nice place.

Dante went into a slow jog, passing other people that walked leisurely on the sidewalk. He eventually reached a small shop that he always met his girlfriend, Evalyn, in front of.

A few minutes' wait brought about the girl that he knew so well. "Hey, Dante."

He grinned. "What's going on? Anything new?"

"I'm fine. Except… You skipped school today. You weren't tanning again, right?"

He looked down at himself nervously. His arms were lightly muscular as were his legs… And all of him was bronzed and sunkissed. "Er… I used sunscreen."

She tapped his forearm, saying, "You are going to get so sunburned one day, even with sunscreen. Another all-day." She shook her head.

They walked slowly down the walk, Evalyn smiling at passersby and Dante staring blankly at their faces. He didn't take too kindly to people less fortunate than he.

The two later reached an empty space in the community behind an abandoned store. She hugged him tightly.

"What's wrong, Evalyn? I thought you said everything was fine earlier." She looked up into his face, worry filling her eyes. _How can she hide her emotions so well all the time_? Dante thought to himself.

Evalyn shook her head slowly, keeping her embrace steady. "What are we going to do? You know we can't hide this for much longer…"

Her gaze shifted downward at her abdomen. It was growing ever so slowly. Dante softly placed his hand on her stomach.

"Everything will be fine. My dad is going to give me a job, no matter my situation. Then I can tell him," he whispered. She met his silvery eyes.

"I know, Dante. I know I can trust you," Evalyn replied quietly, her head resting on his shoulder. "I know you'll be able to support us, even with a baby..."

xXxXxXx

It was quiet in the Lector household. Aalia's father was out at work, and the only person in the small house was her mother. She was working on a custom outfit for the mayor's wife. Despite the impending horror of reaping day, it was profitable for them. Anybody with money in District Eight would come to her mother for new clothes for the occasion.

"Could you hand me the scissors?" Aalia did not hesitate to grab the tiny cloth-cutting utensils.

"No problem, Mom. What does she want this year?" Aalia asked, referring to the mayor's wife. The woman's style was a bit… unique.

"Actually, she simply asked for a dress. That was fourteen different colors," she said as she stopped sewing and picked up a conglomeration of cloth. "Heaven knows how I am going to put these together."

Aalia shook her head and her light brown hair, which was in a braid while she worked with her mother, flicked back and forth. "If I didn't know her better, I would definitely assume she was one of those insane Capitol people." The thin girl passed another roll of thread to her mother. "She reminds me of a peacock."

A light popped into her mother's pale, blue eyes. "Perfect! I could make it into a swirling-eye design… Thank you, Aalia."

The thin, short girl smiled. "Why do you always get inspiration from my insults?"

"You have quite a few creative insults, honey. Like when you said Zaireh was the equivalent of a human lily? I made her a white dress with a green hemming. She loved it."

Aalia's grey eyes sparkled as she laughed. "That's going to be my job. I'll be the town insulter. Everybody will come to me for inspiration or witty remarks."

"You'll be the next Confucius, minus the baldness and positivity."

Her mother grinned when her daughter straightened suddenly. "Are you saying I am negative?" she asked pointedly.

"Do you deny it?" her mother retorted with a raised eyebrow.

"… No."

xXxXxXx

_A/N: Good mother of squirrels, that took forever. My chapters usually get written quickly. This is, what, two weeks later? Wow. Updating failure on my part._

_Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter. I introduced four of your characters (Kem, Rezzie, Dante, and Aalia) as well of one of my own (Zilla). It was fun to write, don't get me wrong._

_I hope that I wrote your character correctly. If anything at all sounded incorrect, tell me immediately. No good comes from screwed up characters. Unless you mean that the character is meant to be crazy/mentally-screwed-up… Never mind._

_Tribute update: I've accepted all the characters you've sent me so far. Thank you for sending them to me._

_Open Female Tribute Spots: Three, Five, Nine, and Ten._

_Open Male Tribute Spots: Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, and Ten._

_That's all for this chapter. Thank you for reading._

_Write on._

_~~I.D._


	4. Chapter Four:  Exhilaration

Chapter Four: An Announcement

Silas Caskur sat quietly, fidgeting in his seat. The other students were just as restless. School would be out in a matter of minutes. Everyone was grasping their belongings, waiting for the teacher to free them.

"Hold up, there's one more thing to take note of…" Everybody groaned loudly. What else could there _possibly_ be? There was a test tomorrow, so there could not be any homework!

"The Capitol has mandatory television viewing tonight. Though I have no idea what it might be, since the Hunger Games are still in three weeks. You're all in that, right?" she asked.

"Duh. We're all fifteen," said a certain obnoxious boy in the back of the room. The teacher shot him a glare.

"Well then. Happy Hunger Games," she said, then mumbled under her breath, "or whatever." She looked at them. "You can go now."

Fifteen seconds later, she was the only person in the room.

xXxXxXx

Silas met up with his father in the fields that day. School took out most of his work time, so there was only two hours left for him to do anything much. Saturdays and Sundays usually held his manual laboring schedule.

"Hey, Dad," he said when he caught sight of Rey. He was walking back to the center with another basket on his shoulder. His mother was probably in the other direction. Silas decided to walk for a while with Rey.

"What took you so long to get here? It's nearly four," Rey commented. Silas shrugged and ran his fingers through his messy, brown hair.

"School took forever. Mrs. Gail reviewed us for the test for two _hours_." He groaned at the memory. _Nobody freaking cares about the history of the Capitol_, he grumbled to himself in his mind.

"Good. So you'll get a better grade than a seventy this time, yes?" his father asked teasingly. Silas scratched the back of his head, grabbing at his black hair uncomfortably.

"Yeah…" He desperately searched for a different subject to talk about. "Uh, we have something on TV tonight. We're supposed to watch it."

Rey nodded. "If we get home in time to watch it. That pudgy Peacekee…" He cut himself off abruptly as the subject of his words walked past them.

"Good evening. Working hard?" asked the Peacekeeper. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "I heard you speaking of the viewing tonight. Yes, it's true. President Snow has a very important and exciting announcement." He walked away.

Rey glanced at Silas. "Speak of the devil…"

xXxXxXx

That night, the Caskur family gathered around the television reluctantly. Zilla's wife and kids came over from next door because one of his sons had "accidentally" smashed the screen.

"What do you think this'll be? Maybe he wants us to know he's growing a beard." Zilla looked at his daughter, Nila. Thirteen years old, she was the youngest of his children.

"Why would he tell us that?" her brother, Mets, asked.

"So we know that a bearded guy will be president," she replied as if it were totally normal. Mets looked at her, confused.

"Quiet. It's coming on," Silas whispered to his cousins.

The Capitol's insignia popped onto the screen along with a short recording of the national anthem. A man with white hair, the President, walked up to a podium. Millions of Capitol citizens applauded.

"Hello, Panem! We have a special announcement to make." He smiled widely, waving to the crowd and the camera. The screen showed people jumping at the barriers, trying to get Snow to notice them. Rey thought they were having seizures.

The President cleared his throat, and the crowing fans quieted down. "I bet they're trained to do that," Zilla declared.

"Over the past few weeks, we have acquired thousands of arena submissions from our wonderful district citizens. It was very difficult for the Gamemakers and me to decide on a single one, but the decision has finally been made."

Silas scoffed. "You know, they probably picked someone from the Capitol to go and pose as somebody so they don't actually have to pick a random person." Several agreed.

"After careful consideration, we have concluded on the most creative and most original arena submission. The winner will come to the Capitol to work on the finishing touches. And the winner is…"

The room fell silent. Rey subconsciously held his breath, hoping beyond hope that he had won. Even though he didn't have faith in himself anymore, he anticipated it with his wish in hand.

"Rey Caskur!"

Mouths gaped. Gasps escaped. Eyes turned to stare, dumbfounded. Rey nearly fainted.

"Congratulations, Mr. Caskur! You will board a train to our brilliant Capitol tomorrow morning along with your family. Thank you for watching, Panem, and good night!"

The symbol flashed on the screen with the anthem, but nobody moved to turn it off. The family was far too astounded.

"…Rey. You won," Zilla said quietly. He shook his head and repeated, "Out of all those people, you won."

The younger brother chortled. "Yeah. I guess so."

Zilla laughed heartily. "My twig of a brother just won a competition! That's a first!" The entire family joined in on the happiness. Rey's wife nearly cried; reaping day was the worst time of the year for her. His daughters jumped up on him, and Silas hugged his mother.

There was a knock on the door. Alma, the oldest sister, let go of her father. "Let go, Tay," he whispered to the youngest of his children. She excitedly freed him from her grip.

By that time Silas had already reached the creaky door with Zilla. He carefully opened it to find a muscular Peacekeeper holding a white envelope.

"Caskur?" he asked.

"Yessir," Silas replied. He was given the letter. The man quickly walked away, leaving Silas to close the door awkwardly.

"Dad, I think this is for you." The boy handed Rey the letter. Carefully, he pulled off the Capitol's symbol-emblazoned seal from the front and opened it. The handwriting was curly and practiced, as if the writer spent a lifetime learning how to make exact spacing between words.

His eyes flew across the words. Each second brought a brighter gleam to his eye. Finally, he looked up.

"We're going to the Capitol, Mal. I get to bring you along, too." She smiled.

"The kids? Zilla?"

"Only the kids. It says 'immediate family members only' on here and lists kids and spouses."

Zilla's face fell for a moment, but he brought the mood back up immediately. "You had better get to packing then, Twig. I won't be here in the morning to carry your suitcase for you."

He hardly felt his scrawny brother's punch to the shoulder.

xXxXxXx

A young District Six girl was silently watching a moth flutter around a flame in her home. She was mesmerized by the fluctuating flight patterns of the gray bug. Though it was not one of the prettiest of insects, she found it to be her favorite.

"Siri, whatcha doing?" came the voice of a small child. The tiny girl skipped into the room and discovered her older sister. Her deep, blue eyes were illuminated by the candle's flickering fire. She padded over to the table and rested her chin on the wooden surface.

"I'm watching the moth," she replied simply. The younger girl gazed at the gray thing for a moment but lost interest.

"I don't see how you can like those. They're ugly." Siri looked down at her sister, Piya.

"Do you know why they're gray?" she asked. The girl shook her head and pulled up a chair. When Siri told a story, she knew to sit down. Siri always got caught up in her tales.

"You see, they were just as colorful as butterflies in the beginning," she said thoughtfully, placing her hand against her head. "Every one of them had the colors of the rainbow in their wings. They were the prettiest things in the sky."

Siri pulled at a lock of her light brown hair, just barely curled. "One day, a rainbow was in the sky. Everyone on earth was happy because of all the beautiful colors. But then it rained, and the colors washed out. Even the angels cried." Her face was remorseful. Piya adored her sister when she told stories. She got so into the tale that it felt like it was real.

"The moths, having the closest colors to the rainbow, decided to ask the butterflies to help them restore the rainbow to its normal glamour. But the butterflies were too vain. They didn't want to give up their beauty."

Piya was hopping up and down in her seat. "What did they do?"

Siri smiled. "The moths gave up everything to bring the rainbow back. The whole world thanked them, but the only color left in them was gray. That's why they look like this."

The little girl frowned. "That's a sad ending, Siri."

Her sister smiled. "Yes. Would you like it to be happier?"

She nodded violently, hitting her head on the table. "Ow."

Siri giggled. "Well, you'll have to get into bed first. It's late for you!"

"Aww, you're no fun!" Piya squealed as she was herded to the bedroom of the house.

xXxXxXx

In the middle of the afternoon, a teenager and a woman sat on the pier. Their legs were swinging back and forth over the open water as ships carrying seafood docked to unload. Together, they were weaving a fish net for their father. He would be arriving sometime during the next hour.

"You know, we've only gotten two done so far," said the eldest of the two, Larin. She smiled at her younger sibling, a girl with wavy auburn hair and piercing blue eyes.

"I'm taking my time. Don't rush me," she murmured haughtily. Her hands moved swiftly across the rope, fastening it in knots and adjusting the loops as she went. Over the years, she had become more accustomed to working slowly and perfecting the nets, unlike her older sister.

"Really, Ula, we're supposed to have eight done today. Bray is going to chew us out," she said. Ula scoffed as she untied a section and tethered it again. Larin rolled her eyes.

"He knows how good we are. He ought to be paying us more for this, but no, he wants to be a cheap old fogey."

"I wish you would be nicer to people. You're going to say something crappy like that when a gossiper walks by, and then you're really going to regret it." A boat sailed in next to the pier on which they sat.

"And I still won't care because I can scare the crud out of any stupid gossip who tries to rat me out. Then _they'll_ regret they ever heard me speak."

"I regret hearing you speak every day," shouted a loud male voice from the ship. Ula groaned.

An eighteen-year-old boy hopped off the port side, landing next to the teen of the same age. "How goes the tying, Uvula?" He snickered at his self-made nickname.

"Fine. How goes the failing at being mature?" she countered.

He made a fake pouting face. "Wonderful, as usual! Aren't you being pleasant today?"

Ula gripped the net tightly, small muscles visible in the tan skin on her arms. "Why me? Why must I suffer through this every freaking day?"

"You know you love me. If you hug me, I'll go away."

Her eyes brightened. _If this guy will leave me alone, maybe I can be nicer_, she thought to herself. She hugged his leg. "There. Happy now?"

He grinned. "I lurve you, too! I'll be back tomorrow!" He leaped back onto the boat.

Larin giggled. "He still likes you, Ula."

As she continued to weave her net, she muttered, "I know. He's also as annoying as crap."

"Maybe you shouldn't have broken up with him," she commented.

_Yeah, and if I had earlier, I wouldn't be pregnant either_, Ula thought maliciously.

xXxXxXx

District Twelve was quiet when Lenny Harken ambled down the streets. He was hungry; he was afraid. His family didn't have food for that night.

He was much too timid for begging, and he was far too paranoid to try to barter in the black market. Besides, what did he have that was tradable?

There was only one alternative that he wasn't too afraid of: digging through trash. He had done it before and come up with a bit of food. It wasn't a good source or a healthy source, but it was at least something.

Fearful, he quickly looked up and down the roads for any sign of people. He looked at each house, watching for houses with movement. When he was totally sure that nobody else was out, he dashed to the closest dark-windowed house and sprinted around it.

Breathing heavily from paranoia, he crept through the dark of night until he found the steel bin. The scrawny boy leaned over the edge.

Nothing edible was in that can except a crust of bread that was nearly harder than a brick. He snatched it and ran to the next one.

Through the next hour of scavenging, he obtained more dry bread and half-eaten apples. Lenny ruffled his black hair, hoping to filter out the smell of garbage. His face was paler than the rest of his whitish skin while he trekked back home, the food in his arms.

When he reached the beaten front door, the moon was already out. It was a waxing crescent. Lenny gazed at it in wonder, remembering what his grandmother had said about the moon. "The moon is just like life, Lenny. It can be full of wonder and brightness, bringing joy. Or it could be a sliver of good in a sea of dark hopelessness. Always remember that things never stay bad for long. There's a cycle, and it never ends."

Hope surged through him as he pushed the door open to feed his family the meager dinner.

xXxXxXx

_A/N: I'm glad to be done with this one. Now we can finally get down to business… Well, sort of. I still haven't introduced a lot of the tributes I've gotten (don't worry if yours isn't written yet—I don't want to overload my readers with buttloads of character descriptions). I need you to answer this question for me: Should I keep doing this type of thing for the time being (that is, have a scene with Rey's story and then a chunk of tributes' lives), or should I move the story along faster and give introductions to other characters during Hunger Games stuff (like reapings, interviews, training)?_

_I might transition over to the second option after the next chapter because things will start really heating once Rey gets to the Capitol. The focus will not be primarily on him during this time, however. Characters will still receive the spotlight. I will probably cover the majority of the reapings while focusing on Rey so you won't have to be bored to death (that is my least favorite part of Hunger Games stories)._

_Please tell me your opinion. Also, I feel like I had a bit of out-of-character people in this chapter. Would the creators of these characters kindly tell me what you think of their portrayal?_

_Open Male Tribute Spots: Three, Four, Five, Seven, Eight, and Ten._

_Open Female Tribute Spots: Three and Nine._

_As you can see, we are in a bit of a shortage of male tributes… Oh, and after the next chapter, character submissions are closed. The reapings are happening after that (next chapter shall be immensely long. Be prepared), so I may end up making a few. They'll probably get murderized in the bloodbath to let others survive._

_Well then. That's all, folks. Oh, and thanks to . for pointing out technical/logical mistakes in the last chapter. I'm glad you did. Criticism is helpful. Don't hesitate to mention something!_

_Write on._

_~~I.D._


	5. Chapter Five:  Arrival

Chapter Five: A Vacation

The day following President Snow's announcement was extremely hectic for Rey's family. They packed up the few belongings in their possession and cleaned up the house as best they could. Sadly, Zilla and his wife and kids were not allowed to partake in the trip to the Capitol. Rey was simply glad that none of either of their children could be picked at the reaping.

The family had their goodbyes before heading out to traverse to the Capitol. Something like envy was in several District Eleven citizens' eyes.

One train ride later and the Caskurs had successfully arrived in the Capitol of Panem.

"What _is_ this place?" Silas said, disbelief weighing down his voice. "I knew the Capitol was fancy, but everything here looks… Well, perfect." And things did seem to be perfect. The sidewalk leading away from the train station seemed to be completely unblemished, as if it had just been paved. The gardens beside the walkway were coordinated faultlessly, and the surrounding shrubs and trees were no different in placement.

"Why use so much time with landscaping? The money would be much more appreciated anywhere else," Alma said.

"Apparently, Capitol people care about appearances. A lot. Look." Silas nodded his head at a passing man with orange hair in a bun, a pink scarf wrapped around his neck, and black platform boots. His shirt was normal enough, but his shorts were _way_ up there.

"Daddy, that man looks like a lady," Tay whispered to Rey. He stifled a laugh.

"Er, let's not talk about people like that, Tay," he replied quickly. "Especially not here."

"I like his scarf," Malia said jokingly. When the man was far enough away, they all broke down in laughter.

"Hold up!" Rey shouted and pointed ahead. "That is _not_ our ride. It just can't be…"

What he was pointing to just happened to be a limo driver holding a sign that said "Caskur" on it. Their eyes widened.

"Do you happen to be the Caskur family? That is the only train arriving at this station today, so I must assume it." The driver had relatively normal clothing on, but his shoes had pointed toes and his hat was a top hat.

"Yes, that's us," Malia said softly as he opened the door for them. They climbed in.

"Oh, I could get used to this," Alma said.

xXxXxXx

The drive was about fifteen minutes long, and they saw all sorts of things. However, they mostly paid attention to the strangely-dressed people.

Eventually, the limo arrived at its destination: a fifteen-story hotel with statues of stoic lions guarding the doorway. A man in a blue uniform with shoes and a hat similar to the limo driver's stood rigidly by the door.

The family stood outside of the hotel in wonder, bewildered by the height of the building. Rey and Malia had to push the kids along.

"Welcome to the Pulitzer," the man in uniform said while pushing the rotating door.

"That door is _spinning_!" Silas yelled. He had found a small container of chocolates in the limo and was currently as hyperactive as Alma. The boy immediately dashed into the circular doorway and ran in circles inside it, screaming, "This is so awesome!"

Tay giggled. When they were inside, Rey grabbed Silas by the collar and murmured, "Yes, this is very exciting, but don't do that again. Please."

The boy nodded vigorously and stood at attention. "Whatever you say, sir!"

Rey dragged his son by the arm to the front desk. They were intercepted by a man in yet another suit, except his was purple and the most normal clothing they had seen all day. His hair was blonde with bright red and orange streaks in it.

"Excuse me, sirs. You are Rey Caskur, yes?" he asked politely to the older of the two.

"I'm Rey." He released Silas's forearm.

"Ah, how wonderful it is to meet you! My name is Carson Trilper. Welcome to our wonderful Capitol!" the man said jubilantly. "I will be your guide for you and your family while you aren't working as a Gamemaker. You were quite a lucky one, winning that contest."

The mostly one-sided conversation was overwhelming Rey. The most prominent thing the man had said was his name: Carson. "Yes, er, thank you."

"I do wonder what your submission was to win over the Gamemakers like that. You even caught President Snow's attention!" Carson's tone made him feel like he had just discovered life on another planet. Impressing President Snow couldn't be _that_ difficult, could it? "Now, I've already checked you in, so we can go straight up to the rooms. Here are your room keys."

The Caskurs had a difficult time keeping up with Carson's talking speed, and by the time they reached their rooms, they had no idea what he was going on about.

"… And the ideal times for visiting the Museum are early in the morning or late afternoon. Here we are! I hope you can get settled rather quickly. Your luggage is already unpacked, and the usual added clothes are here. Rey, you'll come with me."

He was still wondering what the "added clothes" were. "Where are we going?"

Carson raised his thick eyebrows in confusion. "Why, to Hunger Games Headquarters, of course. You're going to get an exclusive tour by an actual Gamemaker today!"

xXxXxXx

Instead of a limo, Carson had gotten a smaller yet faster vehicle to take them to the Hunger Games Headquarters, which Carson referred to as the HGHQ. "Such a clunky title, don't you think? I see that it would look unprofessional to shorten it to HGHQ like I do, but every long title must be given a nickname. CEO, you know, things like that."

Rey had never met a more talkative man in his life. Neither had he met a man with highlights and an eggplant-tinted suit, but he didn't feel the need to reference that.

"Well, here we are."

The lanky district citizen took a moment to glimpse out the window. His gaze was met with an enormous brick-red structure that was shaped like a fortress. It had branches in each of the cardinal directions that were connected to the main building by glass hallways. The main attraction happened to be a huge sculpture of the Capitol's symbol that was gilded with gold and silver. Rey stared at it in awe.

"Beautiful, isn't it? It's been here since the twentieth Hunger Games, and it's actually a revised model of the first headquarters. Many people believe it is one of the best architectures in the Capitol, mostly because there it has an underground basement sort of thing so they wouldn't need a second level."

"… Right."

Carson grinned widely and said, "Off you go, then! Your Gamemaker tour guide is waiting at the door!" The Capitol man pressed a button and Rey's door swung open. Dumbfounded, he slipped out.

As the car sped away, the speechless man walked forward to the waiting figure ahead. He was a few inches shorter than Rey but had a confident demeanor to his stance. His hair was close to the same shade of blonde as his own, but the waiting man's hair was styled as if he were wearing a skull cap with perfectly-gelled spikes hanging down. Rey thought his hair was a round, tasseled pillow.

"Well, welcome to Headquarters, Mr. Caskur. My name is Tawlen Glive, and I will basically tell you ever single thing about this place." He noticed that Tawlen had a half-smirk that reminded him of Zilla.

"Thank you, Mr. Glive—"

"Please, call me Tawlen."

"Right. Call me Rey."

"Now that we are acquainted," Tawlen said nonchalantly, "why don't we go in and see the sights?"

The District Eleven man nodded slowly. The Gamemaker raised an eyebrow. "You look tense. Calm down. This is just where every Hunger Games has been planned out and conducted. You'll be working here like the rest of us by the end of today. So let's get cracking, shall we?"

xXxXxXx

On a thin street in District Five, a tiny girl strolled down the downtrodden sidewalk. Her black hair was short and spiky, somewhat reminiscent of a lethargic porcupine. Nobody tried to lock gazes with her grayish-green eyes; they knew that she was not as outgoing as most other people.

After walking a while longer, she came to a relatively deserted place next to an alleyway. A boy a year older than her leaped out of the dark passage. "Well, look who it is, everybody. It's my buddy, Spike-Scalp," taunted the boy with mud-brown hair and murky blue eyes.

"Who is 'everybody'? We're the only two here, genius," she said haughtily. This boy was _not_ a friend. Or anybody she would like to be around for more than twenty seconds of the year.

"I'm talking to all your multiple personalities." He smirked evilly.

"Whatever, dude. As long as none of my _personalities_ are as big-headed as yours is, I'll be perfectly happy," retorted the girl. She walked away, her pressed tightly out of annoyance.

"Come on, Aquila, I'm just teasing—"

_What else would that be called, stupid?_ she thought of saying to him, but she was already worn out from school. Making snarky replies was taking too much energy.

Aquila walked on without looking back. She was usually a quiet soul, but _that_ guy, Bralt, always got on her last nerve. She just couldn't take it anymore… The only way to get him off her case was by being annoying right back at him. _Hey_, she thought, _it works, doesn't it?_

And then a hand was on her shoulder.

"What do you want?" she nearly screamed in his face.

Bralt looked hurt. "Uh… You dropped this."

She looked down to see what he thought she had lost, and… He flicked her nose.

"Just too easy!" he shouted at her. "It's easier to trick you than my baby brother!" He cackled and walked away.

The normally shy Aquila Renada was so angry at the moment that she grabbed the nearest blunt object, which was a brick, and heaved it at the arrogant boy's head. It missed its mark, however, and smashed into his upper back.

"What the—!" He promptly skidded and fell face-first into the rugged pavement. "I know it was you, Spike-Scalp!"

But she had already dashed down an alleyway and was headed home, very happy with herself. Aquila didn't like violence all that much, but Bralt just made her blood boil.

"Well, that was fun," she said to no one in particular. "Maybe he'll leave me alone…"

"There you are!" She turned on her heel to face a dirt-covered, fuming Bralt.

She sighed. "Oh, crap." So she sprinted in the opposite direction.

Two fence-jumps later, she ran into one of the people that she knew as a friend: Laurie Sawyer. She glanced at her taller friend and said, "Bralt's on my tail."

Laurie rolled her eyes and pulled Aquila behind her. They wove their way across the streets until they were standing under the eaves of an abandoned bakery.

"Honestly, Aquila, you don't talk to _anybody_ for eight hours, and then you run into Bralt and he's chasing you across town! How does that make sense?" Laurie shouted at her friend, exasperated but joking.

"I don't know." She shook her head. "He gets under my skin."

The tall redhead slumped against the wall. "I've heard you fight with him before." She locked eyes with Aquila. "It's funny, actually. You're sneaking quietly down a road, and then _BAM_! Catfight!"

Aquila smiled sheepishly. "Okay, I get it. The world dislikes Bralt."

Laurie was hopelessly confused. "How did you get that from…?"

"If the world knew him, it wouldn't like him. There's my reasoning. Let's go somewhere else, please. I see his big head in the crowd."

xXxXxXx

_Eepeep, eepeep, eepeep_…

"All right. Six o'clock, time to go," an extremely tall teenager from District Two said. He placed his hands on his hips, breathing heavily. Trigeminus had just completed his ten-mile run of the morning, something he had done since he was much younger to train for the Games.

Trig shook his head and took a swig of water. He swept his hand across the top of his head and brushed out his damp, dusty blonde hair. The morning fog had clung to his bronze-tanned body, every inch of his skin covered in a thin layer of water.

Not many people were out at the time. The sun was just then peeking over the horizon, and only a few shopkeepers had decided to set up so early. Trig waved to them each.

"How's it going, Trig? Getting ready for the Games?" a nonchalant merchant shouted.

"As always, sir. Is your morning fine enough?"

"Would be if there wasn't so much mist floatin' around. It isn't really a problem until I can't see my customers and they scare me out of my wits when they come around."

Trig laughed as expected. He always laughed for the old man.

"Ain't this your last year?"

He froze. "Yes," he replied anxiously. It was, indeed, his last year for the Games. Now or never. The end of the road, or maybe even the beginning. It all depended on what he chose to do.

Trigeminus walked on quickly before the man could say anything back. But he heard the words anyway.

"I know you'll go in this time. And you'll win, boy. You've got your father's blood, and he was one of the best victors ever for District Two."

His heart racing, the eighteen-year-old stopped in his tracks. _Am I good enough_? he thought. This question had looped through his thoughts every day since he was ten. Since he knew that he'd have to go into the Games.

He closed his foggy green eyes, the bags underneath them becoming more pronounced. Stress, of course, was the culprit.

"Of course."

So he jogged down to the training center to work like he had done for more than eight years. His parents' respect was _everything_ to him. To earn that respect, he had to win. He must become a victor. What else was there to do?

_Well_, he though grimly, _it's an all-or-nothing sort of deal. If I lose, it won't matter that they'll be ashamed. If I win, then I win._

However much he resisted, he couldn't push one other thought out of his mind as he pushed through the doors of the training center. _Don't volunteer._

He just didn't know. Pain was balancing against honor, and he was blind to his fate. His life was literally stuck in the middle.

xXxXxXx

Reginne Albe sat quietly behind her home, trying to get away from all of the noise inside. The house was relatively small, so it wasn't a pleasant place to be. Not because it was petite, but because of the number of inhabitants.

Reginne had neglected to ever count the people in the house at the time, but she estimated that it was about twenty. Older and younger siblings, parents, grandparents, a crazy aunt, a normal aunt that tried to help, and babies filled the establishment.

Nothing mattered to her about her family. To the dark and spiky-haired girl, anything of value did _not_ have anything to do with the people swarming in the rooms behind her.

To get her mind off of the chaos, she grabbed a stringy rope from the dirt and began to tie it in different knots. Several years ago, when she was a tiny child and wasn't so hateful to her family, her father had taught her how to tie rope into different designs. It became her hobby. When her cruel demeanor fully surfaced, she escaped into the woods and used it the knot as a trap.

Needless to say, she caught a tiny mouse. She cooked (or, more accurately, severely burned) and ate it happily, alone. Too many mouths to share it with.

"Reginne?" a tinny voice called from the doorstep.

The spindly fourteen-year-old glared at her younger sister. "What?" she spat harshly.

"Momma wants you to come in," her sister, Reina, said quietly. "She doesn't want you to get sick or anything."

"I can do whatever I want." She turned away. "And I haven't been sick for two years. If you didn't hang around in there," she said with acid, pointing to the house, "you'd be healthy, too!"

Reina looked down. "Okay. Come in if you want."

Reginne nodded, and her sister reentered. The sole reason to why she was so unkind to Reina was because Reina was the newest sibling after Reginne. She felt that, if Reina never came along, her family would care about her more.

Her family just didn't seem to work that way.

_Maybe if I was a tribute, they would care._ A thought occurred to her. _Maybe if I volunteered, they would stop worrying about all the other kids and think about me for a change_.

Well, Reginne wouldn't have to volunteer at all. Some things happen for a reason.

xXxXxXx

_A/N: Finally! Geez, I never thought it would take so long to write this chapter… Sorry for making you wait so long._

_I lost internet for two weeks and fought writer's block for the rest of the time. Ah, well. I'm still up and running, eh?_

_Anyway, I'm glad that this is done. An important event happened for Rey—getting to the Capitol. Get ready for the next chapter because the plot will be coming into play, at long last! Well, mainly because the reapings are happening. Then we get down to the real fun._

_Tribute submissions are now closed. Since reapings are next, I can't have any newcomers afterward._

_I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. And don't worry—if your character hasn't shown up yet, they'll appear in a Games-related event._

_Oh, and I'd like to thank _Tour de Force_ and _LoveTheBoyWithTheBread_ for nominating this story for the _Summer 2010 The Hunger Games Fic Awards_. I'm happy that this story has turned out so well so far. There are plenty of great fics there, so if you want to find some great stories, head to the aforementioned forum!_

_Here's to being one step closer to the start of the Hunger Games!_

_Write on._

_~~I.D._


	6. Chapter Six:  Distraught

_Note: If you've received a second story alert for this chapter that was published a while ago, I've only fixed some technical errors. Reading it again because of the alert is unnecessary. Unless you want to._

Chapter Six: An Insight

Nearly three weeks had passed during Rey's time at the Hunger Games Headquarters.

At the beginning of the tour, Rey was made to swear not to speak of anything he saw or experienced in the Headquarters. He agreed immediately and was told that only other Gamemakers, President Snow, or his family could hear of his experiences within the building.

After Tawlen showed him nearly every facility in the Headquarters (Carson turned out to be right about it having a nickname—the Gamemakers had shortened it to "Headquarters"), he was taken back down underground to the office sector. Rey was surprised to receive his own personal office even though it was the size of a broom closet.

The amount of work that he had as a Gamemaker was not as complicated as he'd originally thought. There were several other workers that helped out with different types of jobs: editors for any televised parts of the Games, mathematicians to calculate the size of the arena, biologists for the vegetation and animal life inside the arena, architects for construction, and the list went on. A Gamemaker's job was to lead all of these people and generally tell them what to do. However, that was still enough to bog down a simple-living District Eleven man.

Before he arrived at the Capitol, he hadn't ever imagined a college or university in Panem. But then, after hearing of all the professionals that worked at Headquarters, he realized that there must be some major school somewhere.

The head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, appointed Tawlen to be Rey's boss. Tawlen was supposed to teach him how to do just about everything. He actually turned out to be a decent teacher (if one could ignore the occasional sarcastic comment or snide joke).

The workday at Headquarters ended at eight o' clock. Rey told his family everything that he could. The only thing he refused to talk about was the arena; he didn't want to spoil any surprises. But then, after he realized what he had just thought, he felt terrible. How could he work on an arena where children would be killed at his hands? And how could he have just thought of the arena as a "surprise"?

He'd shaken his head and expelled it from his mind. If he continued to think like that, he would never be able to go back to Headquarters. The guilt had begun to weigh on him.

Before he knew it, the day of the reapings had arrived.

xXxXxXx

"Uh, Tawlen, aren't we supposed to watch the reapings? Don't we need to know who the tributes are?" Rey asked his alleged superior. The shorter Capitol man was leading him to the main meeting room—the one that had only one television screen. They would have to use the multiple screens of the Games' Control Room to see all of the reapings in order.

Tawlen chuckled as if he had just been asked a remedial question. "Rey, don't you know that the reapings occur at different times in each district?"

"Yes, but… Oh."

"Now you get it. If we watched each individual reaping, we'd be sitting there for hours. Gamemakers always have a meeting on reaping day and let the editors revise the broadcast so we only see the highlights and other important things."

Rey nodded. Getting used to being a Gamemaker wasn't difficult, but he did miss working with his entire family by his side.

"So we'll be having a meeting in the East Facility. It's going to be a very long meeting since we can't finish up until the editors have the taping ready."

"Wait, that means we'll be in there all day! Won't editing take more than five hours?"

"Nah. They can fix things up pretty quickly, but it's the real reapings that take up all the time. So we'll just go over every aspect of the arena until then."

Rey swallowed. That had been a sore spot since the beginning. Placing trees and lakes had been one thing, but creating traps and setting out predators had taken a bigger toll on his moral thinking. He pushed on anyway; he was doing it for his family.

The two men walked through the transparent hallway to the East Facility, which was basically a huge meeting area. Rey couldn't help but look at the amazing gardens just outside the glass walls.

They entered the room through oversized wooden doors to find that all of the other Gamemakers had already taken their seats at the huge table. The table was about as long as a train car and half as wide. The walls were painted a calm red, and the floor was a plush carpet that was a brighter shade of crimson.

"Ah, there they are! We thought you two would be late, but you've proven us wrong again." It was President Snow speaking from the farthest end of the huge table. Rey had dismissed his initial fear of the President during his first encounter. He seemed to be a pleasant man, sometimes a bit over-the-top with his excitement. Rey thought he was forcing it, but how could somebody fake joy for that long?

"Go ahead and take a seat. We've got a long conference ahead of us," Seneca Crane said from the seat on the President's right side. Tawlen and Rey hurried to the end of the table and scrambled into the large chairs.

"Now that we are all situated," began Snow, "I believe we can start." A projector appeared above the table and lit the room with odd lights. Seneca flipped a switch, and every normal light from the ceiling immediately dissipated. What was left was a holographic replica of the arena floating above the table.

"This, quite naturally, is our arena for the Games this year." Rey stared in wonder. He had never been shown this type of technology. He noticed that the center of the table was made of black panels. _Maybe those reflect the light to make the hologram_. _I'll never understand this stuff_, he thought miserably. Nothing was simple anymore.

"Here is a close-up of Sector A. We've added the cliff there, so the trees will be cut back around four yards away…"

xXxXxXx

That morning in District Three, the citizens woke early to prepare for the reaping. Since the day was considered a holiday, none of the factories were functioning at the time. For the first time in a while, the district was quiet.

"Get up, slacker!" a boy shouted to his younger brother, then proceeded to shake the living daylights out of him. "I've already eaten your toast, so you better hurry before I get the eggs!"

Beriel Langly groaned, totally disoriented. "Ungh."

His brother cackled and dashed out of the room with the intent of stealing the remainder of a certain someone's breakfast.

Beriel shuffled out of bed and sat up slowly. His muddy green eyes were fogged with sleep, and his brown hair was ruffled in a rabid-wild-animal sort of way. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to clear them, but his brother, Welden, burst in again and commented, "If you keep touching your face, you'll just get more zits, Beri."

Beri bit his lip unhappily. "Yeah."

Welden rolled his eyes and walked back out. "You're eating my leftovers this morning."

After eating the miniscule amount of eggs and toast edges, he hurried into the bathroom after Welden finished. The pallid-skinned boy scrubbed his face with water and stared at himself in the mirror. He saw the acne covering his face, the muscles in his arms that were disproportionate to the shortness of his torso, and the way his hair was hopelessly unkempt. Ignoring his hair, he dressed himself in an old suit and hand-me-down pants.

The Langly family left the house at nine and headed to the gathering in the town center. Every healthy (and mostly not-so-healthy) citizen was in attendance. The Justice Building towered over them, and the reaping stage was stationed at its entrance. The mayor sat in the seat behind the podium along with the Capitol escort, a rigid woman named Leila Tracen, and the male and female mentors. Beriel had no idea what the mentors' names were; this was only his second reaping.

He squeezed his way through the crowd and stood with the other thirteen-year-olds. "Hey there, Burial." Snickers surfaced. He closed his eyes and clenched his fist. _Why did my parents _have_ to name me after something to do with dead people_? he whined in his mind.

At nine-thirty sharp, Mayor Ballow began his speech at the podium. Beriel honestly attempted to listen to the words, but all of the whispers around him drowned it out. The mayor read a short list of District Three's few victors and carried on a bit longer.

"Without further ado, we will now pick the tributes," Mayor Ballow finished. "Leila?"

The mild-mannered Capitol citizen replied, "Why, of course." She stepped forward to the female reaping ball.

"Our lucky female tribute is… Frall Hempson!" An oddly excited girl from the sixteens darted onto the stage.

"Now for our male tribute. Here we are! Beriel Langly!"

Murmurs of "Burial" surged through the thirteens as he clambered toward the stage. _Not me, not me, no. I'm only thirteen. This isn't fair._

He stood silently next to Frall while Leila asked for volunteers. Nobody made a sound, so she continued on and addressed the crowd. "Happy Hunger Games! Give a round of applause to our tributes!"

Halfhearted clapping swept through the crowd. Beriel thought sadly that the crowd knew they didn't have a winner in him. That Frall girl, maybe, but definitely not him.

Frall, who was a head taller and much more ecstatic than Beriel, grabbed his hand and shook it happily. "We're a good pair, aren't we? I know we'll win! We'll get farther than anybody from this district in the last seven years!"

He had no idea how she was so happy about it. He looked sadly at the group and his eyes widened when he saw Welden. His eyes were watery and his head was drooping. _Is he… Crying?_ Beriel asked wildly. _Of course not, he wouldn't ever cry about me._

Then his parents walked over to Welden and hugged him tightly. They had the same expression. _Hey, they're crying, too. But Welden doesn't care. He's faking it._

Up in the Justice Building, Beriel's family rushed in.

"Oh, Beriel, we're so sorry this happened! You'll be okay, son, you can do it…"

"You have an advantage. You'll be overlooked. They won't think of you, so you can get out of there without them noticing you're winning…"

But through the hugs and tears, Beriel stared at his older brother the most. His tears meant the most. "I know you can do it, Beri. I know you'll win. If you can take all my jokes, you can beat anybody in that game."

At that single comment, Beriel embraced his brother like never before. _No, he really does think I matter,_ he thought sadly. _Now we'll never be on the same page. I won't make it back._

For his parents' sake, he said he would. He said he'd try his best and do everything to win.

It wouldn't be enough, he knew, so he hugged his brother that much tighter.

xXxXxXx

Noon had already passed when the reaping crowd began to assemble. The streets were very crowded with the citizens of District Ten. Many of them had adapted to the pre-dawn work schedule, but the kids and teens had a harder time. The possible tributes in the roped off area yawned widely as they waited.

Tzeitel Verigo skipped happily off to the reaping with her family. It wasn't that she was excited about the Games, but she loved having so many people together at one time. She loved people in general. Even if those people were distraught because their children could be sent to their deaths in a man-made trap.

"Please, Tzeitel, stop hopping like that. People are staring at you," her mother reprimanded.

Her father, on the other hand, patted Tzeitel's back. "Let her be, Atarah. She's only trying to cheer us up."

"I can't 'cheer up' today. You know why."

They walked on, but Tzeitel tried again to bring the light back into her mother's eyes. "Come on, Mama. Everything will be fine. Even if something bad happens, you can get through it. You're my mama, and if anyone can do anything, it's you."

Atarah looked into the creamy brown eyes of her eldest daughter and smiled vaguely. "I don't know how you do it, but you always know what to say."

Tzeitel smiled broadly. Her little sister, Freyda, grabbed her darkly tanned hand and tugged at it. "Why'd you stop skipping? The bugs are gonna bite us!"

"So I can talk without running into things, unlike Liat. And if there is any bug-biting going on, they'll eat him first. He's taller."

Liat, her much older brother, ruffled the straw-like hair that was strewn down Tzeitel's back. "If we're going to be teasing each other, I think I ought to saw that our sheep's coats are more in order than your hair."

The small family laughed somewhat happily as they came closer to the center of town. Without meaning to, Atarah stiffened. Her husband tried unsuccessfully to calm her down once more.

Freyda clutched Tzeitel's hand tightly. "This is scary, Sissy. What do I do now?" Freyda was only twelve.

Her fifteen-year-old sister whispered quietly, "Just go find your friends from class and stand with them. You'll know what to do from there." Freyda nodded frightfully and wove through the throng.

Tzeitel didn't walk far until she met with her group. Friends flocked to her.

"How's Freyda? She isn't too anxious, is she?" a best friend asked.

"No, she's more worried about bug bites at the moment. I know she'll be okay." Saying it out loud made Tzeitel feel way more secure, but she was truly afraid of what would happen if Freyda was reaped. The world would stop spinning for her entire family.

They chattered for a while until one o' clock rolled around. The mayor addressed the crowd, did his speech, named the victors, and called the district escort up.

"A pleasure as always, Mayor." The escort was a man of average height with platinum blonde hair and eyebrows, and if anyone looked close enough, they would notice that he wore silver mascara. His skin was quite pale, and it oddly sparkled in the sunlight. Some people wondered if he had surgically implanted diamond shards into his skin.

"Let's start with the female tribute." He plunged his hand in the glass ball and nabbed a slip of paper. "Ah-hem, Ms. Tzeitel Verigo!"

She blinked. And blinked some more. And walked loosely up to the stage.

The girl got her bearings quickly. _Oh, no. What will Freyda do? This will break her heart. And Mama's going to be hurt, too._

She found Freyda's look of terror and smiled at her. Not that it would help, but it made the tiny twelve-year-old try to smile back. The torn expression quickened Tzeitel's pulse.

"Sammerun Polt!" A tall, well-muscled teen rose from the eighteen-year-olds. Tzeitel grinned at him. His hardened features didn't move.

"Any volunteers today? Then we're done!" The escort waved to the crowd. "Happy Hunger Games! Let's clap for this year's tributes, and may the odds be _ever_ in their favor!"

When the applause ended and they were herded into the Justice Building, Tzeitel took the opportunity to speak with the bronze-skinned, blue-eyed Sammerun.

"Hi. I'm Tzeitel, which you already know. These aren't the best circumstances to meet, huh?" she said sheepishly. She noticed that his brown hair was bleached by the sun, and the brighter strips in his hair reminded her of the cattle's grazing fields in winter. For some unfathomable reason, he intimidated her. _His eyes look cold. Maybe he's scared of being a tribute._ She thought some more. _Or maybe he thinks my attitude is annoying._ People had told her that several times.

Sammerun simply replied, "No. These circumstances just suck."

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "You know, some of the victors always say that you have to stay positive to win."

"Then I'm guessing you've already won."

The tone in his voice was unreadable, and before she could ask him about the remark, she was taken into a room by a Peacekeeper.

Her family nearly broke down the door. Atarah's eyes were red from sobbing, and her father hugged her firmly. "You can do it, baby, I know you can."

Freyda cried into side. "Sissy, don't leave me! You can't go!"

Her mother said nothing and simply kissed her forehead. Liat's face was taut like leather.

"If anyone will win this year, it's you. There isn't any other person who can bring up spirits like you. Everybody'll dote on you and ally with you and help you out, Sis, and then you'll just win it like it's nothing." Liat jumped at her and held her so tightly that she couldn't breathe.

The whole Verigo family latched onto the girl. The optimistic Tzeitel couldn't help but fall into the emotional whirlpool; she, too, shed tears.

"I'll make it. Don't worry about me, you guys. The victors say that being positive is what makes people win. Haven't I already won, then?" She had taken Sammerun's comment and turned it into a joke. They hoped it wasn't the last that they heard from her.

xXxXxXx

Rey felt like his brain would fall out of his ear.

All of the complicated words, intricate algebraic equations, and overly detailed descriptions caused his brain to fizzle. He had been perfectly fine with understanding things until the mathematicians came in to discuss the altitude of some area or landscape or whatever-it-was. He completely fell out of the loop after that since they went on to ask about… something complicated.

"And we're done!" Snow said happily, clapping his hands once. Seneca toggled another lever and the holographic projection returned to its original miniature-arena form.

"How'd you do? Did you follow all of that?" Tawlen asked in an undertone.

"I got lost when the guys talking about latitude or altitude or something came in." Tawlen snorted and leaned forward, trying to contain his laughter. The Gamemaker beside him glowered.

"That was before Sector_ E_."

Rey nodded sadly. "Where I come from, the education system doesn't really teach algebra. It's all history and standard English."

Before Tawlen could reply, President Snow smiled and bellowed, "Time for the reapings! I suggest you get settled in the control room; our editors said that it'll be a long one."

The Capitol people sprung from their seats and rushed away. "Why are they in such a hurry?" Rey wondered.

"What do you mean? Aren't reapings exciting for you?"

Rey was appalled. "Ex_cuse_ me? Watching someone's child getting picked to die in an arena is not exactly my idea of fun, Tawlen."

The green-eyed man tilted his head in thought. "Huh. When you put it that way, it just sounds terrible. I used to think of it as an all-or-nothing type of game. If you win, you'll get everything you've ever dreamed of. If you lose, well, then you won't have to think about it anymore."

"Except it's more like life-or-brutal-death." Despite the odd friendship the two had built up, they still had differences. Very extreme differences, in fact.

"Yes, I suppose. But the victor receives all sorts of prizes. They return home as heroes," Tawlen reasoned, but he decided it didn't sound very great to his apprentice, whose eyebrows were furrowed in an agitated manner. "Look, I don't think we'll ever see the Games in the same light. Let's just go finish up the day."

Rey nodded, irritated, and walked briskly down the glass hall. When they finally reached the control room, even Snow had already taken a seat.

"You were almost late again, Mr. Glive," Seneca said to the Gamemaker.

"I apologize. I lose track of time often."

"Well, no need to dwell on that. Let's get this started," Snow added. One of the Gamemakers murmured into a microphone. The lights dimmed, and the screens flicked on immediately.

The Capitol seal popped into view, followed by "District One" in large, white letters. It faded into a silhouette of those two words while the scene passed to a bird's eye view of a town square filled with people. A Justice Building loomed in the background, and it was just out of reach of the semi-colorful buildings surrounding it.

On the stage a giddy woman announced, "Time to pick our tributes!" She dug in a glass bowl that Rey recognized as the reaping ball.

"Shinae Tome!" A skinny girl with sparkling eyes dashed up the stairs, her smile dazzling the crowd. The escort reached into the second sphere for the male tribute.

"Dante Lustor!" As the tall boy with wind-tossed hair and a luxurious tan walked leisurely up to the stage, the outline of his name appeared on the television.

Rey risked a look at Tawlen. "Why didn't the girl's name do that?"

"Wait for it…"

"Are there any volunteers?" Before Rey could wonder any longer, a confident voice cried from the screen.

"I volunteer!" The eyes of the crowd (and those of the Gamemakers, for that matter) watched as a russet-haired girl made a point of running up the stairs quicker than the former girl tribute. The escort asked for her name, and she proudly spoke, "Rezzellia D'manarie." Rey felt like slapping himself when the name materialized. _Duh. Those first districts always have volunteers_, he reminded himself. _Why don't I ever think?_

Shinae seemed peeved that her fifteen minutes of fame had ended. However, when asked if she would let Rezzellia take her place, she reluctantly agreed.

The scene disappeared after the usual "Happy Hunger Games" and clapping occurred. Only the slightly visible words were left, and they were then filled with color.

"District One's tributes are Dante Lustor and Rezzellia D'manarie," a female Gamemaker muttered to herself as she typed into a computer.

An elbow jarred Rey from his thoughts. "Making a database," Tawlen whispered while pointing to the woman.

As they spoke, District Two's reaping was beginning to show. The male escort called up a girl by the name of Aurelia Sedona, and she climbed the stairs with an extremely determined expression. Her name popped onto the screen.

The boy tribute called up was Trigeminus Bellarmine, a tall boy with faint muscles. The name-appearing confirmed that they were official tributes.

As unexciting as it was for Rey, the reapings continued without a hitch. There were few out-of-the-ordinary events. He did notice that some of the older and more experienced Gamemakers would make bets with each other on who would survive the fight at the Cornucopia. This made a certain district citizen want to vomit all over their fancy suits.

District Three's tributes were Frall Hempson, a brunette of average height, and Beriel Langly, a boy that looked like a white-skinned smurf when compared to Frall (in the words of Tawlen, of course).

Ula Penfrond took the stage in District Four along with a boy who was replaced by the volunteering Vanitez Clandestine. Ula did not look particularly pleased that nobody wanted to take her place.

A shy pair of tributes, Aquila Renada and Alen Long, was picked in District Five. Their facial features and hair made them look almost like relatives.

Siri Amarino of District Six came onto the stage slowly. Witby Tane rose to the occasion (literally) and walked onto the stage with a confident, condescending glance at Siri. Rey heard the betting Gamemakers whisper something about District Five and Six not standing a chance.

District Seven was represented by Willow Shren and Cosmo Deladun.

Tawlen punched Rey awake after District Eight's reaping was finished, and he only saw the two names: Aalia Lector and Zander Rane.

District Nine's reaping was quite unnerving for the Gamemakers and even Snow. Lark Kaine, the male tribute, was normal enough (if his puny demeanor was not accounted for). Paemine Roever, the girl tribute, was the odd one. She had no arms.

"This will make for an interesting year," Tawlen said mostly to himself. Rey was bewildered. _How in the world can she fight without hands? How can she take care of herself in an arena where twenty-three other people are out to kill her?_

District Ten's reaping was shown without a pause. Tzeitel Verigo was chosen as the female, and despite the less-that-upbeat experience of being a tribute, she managed to keep a smile on her face. The boy was Sammerun Polt, a severe-looking teenager with a pinched face and dark eyes.

Then came District Eleven, the reaping that Rey had been dreading since he had started the day. He worried that they would be children he knew, children that were his neighbors, or someone that had helped him out in the fields one day. Would he be able to bear watching them die?

"As usual with tradition, let's start with the girls. Welcome Matrellin Greydow to the stage!"

_Of course._ He just knew it would happen. This Matrellin girl had a lung disease that constricted her airway with mucus unless someone pounded her back hard enough to help her breathe. She wouldn't stand a chance.

Kem Larchspur was the male tribute. Rey almost gaped at the screen while the seventeen-year-old walked up to the stage. The siblings nearest him were crying out his name and trying to reach him, but Peacekeepers flocked to them and silenced Kem's brothers and sisters. It was ironic enough for him. _I just met that kid. Are they toying with me? Did they purposefully choose tributes that would make everything that much more difficult for me?_

The escort asked for volunteers. The girls stared at each other intently, knowing that if they didn't stand up for Matrellin, she'd die. Possibly before even getting into the arena.

"Volunteer!" Everyone looked to the back of the crowd at a woman and a man with terrified faces. "Please, somebody volunteer!" As the Peacekeepers pulled them back and told them to keep quiet, Rey bit his lip and shook his head. _They know. They know they've only got a few years left with her. Someone's got to have enough compassion to—_

"I do. I… I volunteer."

A girl with stringy blonde hair and hazel eyes slowly climbed the steps. She met the escort and was asked for her name.

"Nila Caskur," she said, losing her assurance with each second.

"No_._" Rey leaned onto the desk and slammed his fists on it, grasping the attention of every Gamemaker for a moment. "_No._"

"Er, Mayor, isn't another Caskur already the Gamemaker-contest-winner?" The mayor looked over some papers and shrugged at the confused woman.

"It says here that his family is unable to be reaped. It doesn't mention anything about volunteering…"

She smiled again. "Well, I guess we've got our tributes!"

"_No._ This isn't right. It was in the contract! She can't be in the Games!" Rey roared. President Snow rubbed his fingertips together.

"I'm afraid District Eleven's mayor is correct. If the volunteering tribute is of the correct age, the Capitol can do nothing to stop the citizen in question." He frowned sadly. "Nila is an official tribute."

His breathing accelerated. It didn't make sense. The paper said _specifically_ that his family couldn't be reaped. This was _wrong_.

The distraught man slapped his hand to his temples, his body shivering wildly. "I need to step out. For a moment."

Nobody got in his way. Tawlen shot him a somber glance while he flung himself out of the room. Rey punched the wall. It only hurt himself. "Why? _Why!_" The pain was too much. It would continue to be too much. It wouldn't ever stop.

Reginne Albe and Lenny Harken were calmly picked as tributes in District Twelve. In a desolate hallway in Hunger Games Headquarters, a man that didn't belong sobbed bitterly into his sleeve on a wall.

He was going to have to watch his niece _die_. He'd watch her run endlessly in a landscape of his creation. He may even be the cause of her death.

Rey Caskur had entered and won that contest to save his family from misery. Now, he would become the reason for their pain.

xXxXxXx

_A/N: And we are officially done with the reapings. I can't imagine writing twelve chapters for them. That would be torture; I could hardly get through this single chapter._

_Did any of you see that last development coming? I hope that it wasn't too obvious. But if you did, I believe that the upcoming installments are more exciting… Anyway, what do you think of it? What's your opinion on what Rey will do?_

_I'm trying to convey my thoughts on how the Games work, but now that I think about it more, there are tons of tiny details that aren't really considered. The next few chapters will have tidbits of descriptions of them within the rest of the story. _

_Here's to hoping I write fast enough to get the Games in progress soon!_

_Write on._

_~~I.D._


End file.
